Shattered With You

Chapter Four

I told myself I didn't want to answer. That he was digging too deep for someone I barely knew. But that mental lecture was for nothing, because it felt like I knew him, and before I even realized I was speaking, I heard myself saying, "I guess I've never been very good at being me."

Considering how ridiculously cryptic that was, I expected a moment of silence preceding a snappy change of subject. Instead, he said, "What are you hiding from?"

The question surprised me so much, it stole my words, so that all I could do was sit there and wonder about this enigmatic man who saw so much. More, in fact, than I wanted him to see.

An awkward silence hung between us. I considered not answering at all, but I was enjoying our time together and didn't want to put him off. At the same time, I didn't want to tell him the truth. Or maybe I didn't really know the truth.

Finally, I lifted a shoulder and simply said, "Isn't everyone hiding from something?"

He pursed his lips, as if he was truly considering the question. Then he nodded. "In my experience, yes. I'd have to say that's true."

I leaned sideways, butting my shoulder against his. "Lots of clients hiding their funds? The deep, dirty, and mysterious world of high finance?"

"Something like that," he said, in the kind of voice that made me think that my joke had more truth in it than I'd intended.

I wanted to ask him more, but I wasn't sure if I should. I felt a connection to this guy, yes, but I didn't trust it. Not yet. What if it was just the euphoria of meeting a nice, good-looking guy on a lovely spring day? What if he wasn't feeling the connection, too?

I thought he was, but—

Screeeeeeech!

My thoughts were rudely cut off by a burst of feedback from the guide's microphone. "Sorry," the guide said. "But at least it woke you all up, because we're about to enter one of London's poshest neighborhoods. Even if you don't recognize the politicians' and executives' names, I'm sure you've heard of Madonna, one of the most famous former residents in this ritzy part of London. Can you guess some others?"

As other guests in the group started to shout out the names of celebrities, I turned my attention back to Quincy. "So how often do you do this?"

"This?"

"Invite tourists you've stumbled upon to ride the double decker bus."

"Would you believe me if I said this was my first time?"

I started to laugh, but something about his tone stopped me. "Actually, yeah." I flashed a shy smile, and I'm really not that shy a person. "Yeah, I think I would."

Our eyes met, and if we'd been in a movie, that was where the couple's theme would have started, low at first and then building to a dramatic kiss, probably with Big Ben in the background and the sun setting so that the sky was ablaze in orange.

I was so lost in the fantasy that I was surprised when he broke the mood and said softly, "This is where I grew up."

"London? I assumed as much, though I guess anywhere in the UK would—oh, wait." I cocked my head, then looked around at the stunning homes, like something out of an incredible movie. Or at least a fun one. Like the über-posh townhome where the British version of Lindsey Lohan lived in The Parent Trap. "You mean here here?"

"Just down this road, actually."

"Wow." I grinned. Apparently I'd been right about that whole came from money thing. "Which house?"